


love, and a bit of exasperation

by viktorkrumn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Happy Ending, M/M, a bit angsty i guess, canon compliant but also johnlock, i love fitting my relationship headcanons into canon, keep johnlock alive competition, sherlocksmolmescompetition, write for johnlock competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 12:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktorkrumn/pseuds/viktorkrumn
Summary: John Watson gets kidnapped. He doesn't know why, but he does know that he wants Sherlock to go to the police with this one.





	love, and a bit of exasperation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @sherlocksmolmes's (tumblr) 'Write for Johnlock' competition

Sherlock Holmes has played many clever games with many clever people. The cleverest of them all, of course, was hiding John Watson from the public eye. Well. Not completely hiding. Just their relationship.

Yeah, dismiss whatever the papers have been telling you for years. They were very much dating since very soon after they met. At some point, they even fell in love. Sherlock Holmes, the great Sherlock Holmes, did have some emotions after all.

Hiding their relationship was never a matter of keeping up the non-human facade. No, it was much cleverer than that. Sherlock Holmes has played many clever games with many clever people, yes, but that meant that he had also acquired many enemies over the years. He decided that it would be better not to let those enemies know that he was in love with his live-in crime-solving partner. Just the fact that he was his best friend had gotten him kidnapped and threatened enough over the years; Sherlock didn’t need to worry about John being harmed because they just happened to also be in love.

John’s worst slip-up, in his opinion, happened while he thought Sherlock was dead. There was no real need, anymore, to hide it, but it still felt private. Confidential. There was something exciting and intimate about keeping the secret, so he hadn’t meant to reveal it yet.

He had come to tell Mrs. Hudson about Mary, and she had asked, “So soon after Sherlock?”

Even if she wasn’t sure herself of what she was implying, even if she was slightly teasing, John’s instinct was to answer truthfully. And Mary really did come very soon after Sherlock, but it felt right.  _ She _ felt right, and he knew that Sherlock would have approved of her. So in a moment of emotional weakness, John replied, “Yes.”

Much later he could admit that that was the reason he reacted so forcefully moments later, when Mrs. Hudson assumed he had a boyfriend. He was trying to cover his arse, so to speak. He had made a mistake, basically admitting to him and Sherlock, and now he had to come off as cross and offended. John practically yelled at poor Mrs. Hudson, and he felt shame and guilt almost immediately. But that’s what years of lying and hiding do to you. You get used to it, and it’s hard to unravel everything at once.

Most of John’s girlfriends were for show. The first one after he met Sherlock, Sarah, wasn’t. He genuinely liked her. But after a while he realized that he liked Sherlock more. And, well, Sarah was probably traumatized by being dragged off on adventures and having her life in danger. The only other genuine one was Mary. Of course she was. Sherlock was gone, and John found a funny, smart, cunning human being, and he fell in love. When he came back, Sherlock understood. Sherlock approved. He and John never discussed it openly, but John would stress how happy he was with her, and Sherlock would smile his rare smile, and John knew. He knew that Sherlock was fine with it, even in favor of it. He liked Mary, and he  _ had _ been gone for two years. And in coming back, he had only broken John’s trust more. So indeed it was quite acceptable that John had found a new partner. Better Mary than some bloke he hated, Sherlock presumed.

When Sherlock was about to be exiled, he almost told John that he loved him. He had never said it before; he had shown it, instead, in soft caresses or in John’s favorite chocolate restocking itself in the pantry. John could always read his emotions, so Sherlock was sure that he knew. Even so, saying it was a bit different. It was laying your heart out for someone else to see, and if they wanted to reject you, they couldn’t do it quite so elegantly. He almost would have done it, right there. Because he loved him so much; he loved his resolution, his sense of determination whenever he found a purpose worth fighting for; he loved his cheeky little smile and his big goofy grin; he loved how loyal John was, first and foremost a family man.

“John, there's something I should say, I've meant to say always and I never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now…” Sherlock paused, suddenly unsure of himself.

He loved how loyal John was, first and foremost a family man. A family man. Mary. She was right there, in sight. And if Mary Watson was in sight, that meant she was also within hearing distance. That’s just the kind of woman she was. Sherlock didn’t want to hurt her like this; what good would it do, to say it just before he was leaving? No. It would break both John and Mary.

So instead he just played it as a joke, suggesting something about baby names. Later he could barely remember what he had said instead. ‘Well,’ he supposed, ‘maybe I made a fool of myself, but at least I didn’t do that to John. Just before leaving.’

He ended up not leaving, of course. But he never regretted that moment, because he could see how happy John was with Mary.

And then suddenly there was no John and Mary. There was no  _ Mary _ , really, and Sherlock had already gotten accustomed to that after some time, in some macabre way. What made him sit up quickly in his bed one morning, was the realization that there was also no more Mary  _ and John _ .

John had already moved back to 221B, both to escape the memories of Mary in their home, and for help with Rosie. (Officially, Sherlock was the one helping. In actuality, it was Mrs. Hudson). It didn’t take long for him and Sherlock to get back together. Years of trauma and a few months of co-parenting will do that to you.

After everything that had happened, it seemed ridiculous to keep hiding. Lying to everyone they knew suddenly seemed childish, even manipulative. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson didn’t need to hide anymore.

“Which is how we got in this absurd situation!” John was yelling into his phone.

Sherlock pulled his own cell away from his ear a bit and winced. “Well, it’s no use arguing about it now. Where are you?” He tried to calm his own nerves by calming John, but that obviously wasn’t going to work.

“I don’t bloody know! It’s pitch black, and my wrists are supposedly tied behind my back, but, well…” John trailed off. Neither of them needed an explanation of how a war veteran who also happened to be the partner of a consulting detective had managed to untie his own wrists, as evident by the fact that he was talking on his phone.

“Alright, I’m going to figure it out. Just… stay put, and don’t worry too much.” Sherlock was already moving, leaving their apartment.

“Stay  _ put _ ? What else could I do?” John spluttered, but Sherlock had already hung up the call.

John didn’t know how he had gotten into this situation. Well, obviously he knew  _ how _ . Two men had kidnapped him in the street when he was on his way to the store. (At first he thought it might be Mycroft; he was still in the habit of doing that from time to time, instead of calling John. Like a sane person.) They had tied his wrists together, stuffed him into a car, and dumped him on the floor in a pitch-black room. It seemed big, or at least high-ceilinged, which he had told Sherlock. Using an old twisting trick, he had managed to untie his wrists, and now he was sitting pretty comfortably against the wall, and they hadn’t even taken his phone. But on a much more metaphorical sense, he had no idea how he got into this situation.

They were supposed to be relaxing. The drama was supposed to be over; all of Sherlock’s big enemies were dead, or in prison, or family, or both in prison  _ and _ family. New enemies would pop up, sure, but they hadn’t yet, and in the meantime, John had convinced Sherlock to tone their involvement with crime down a notch. Sherlock was still taking cases, of course, but nothing huge; they were focusing on their friends and families, on Rosie, and, well, on  _ them _ .

John huffed in annoyance. Then he picked up his phone and dialed Sherlock again.

He picked up almost immediately, sounding worried but muffled, as if his surroundings were noisier than before. “John? Is everything still alright?”

“Hmph. As alright as they could be when you’re kidnapped.”

“Well. If you’re complaining, you can’t be too worried. And,” he quickly added, “and you shouldn’t be. I’ll find you quick as anything. You’ll be out and well by tea-time.”

“Sherlock…” John knew that his partner wouldn’t be extremely pleased about what he had to say next, but he was sure of it. “Sherlock, I know that you could and that you want to, but I don’t want you to solve this one on your own. Please. That’s how these things always turn out so - so messy, and… feelings cloud your judgement. They do — ”

“John — ”

“I’m not done. Feelings cloud your judgement, and, well. This is just overflowing with feelings. Go to the police.” John was slightly out of breath, but he had said his piece. He leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“John, I need you to trust me.” That’s it? That’s what John was going to get after his whole rushed speech?

“I do. Of course I trust you. But I need you to listen to me this time.”

“I’ll — Okay, gotta go. Call me if anything changes, or if you think of any more clues as to where you are.”

“Sherlock — ” He had hung up again. Of course he had.

Sherlock was the love of John’s life. John was sure that he was. But he had to be the most frustrating soulmate to ever be in a relationship.

An hour later, John was still sitting on the floor of what he had decided was a warehouse. He still had no idea who had kidnapped him, or why, and he was still hoping that Sherlock was working with the police.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Sherlock to solve this on his own; rather, something inside him was screaming that Sherlock needed to go to the police. When he acted on his own, his feelings tended to get in the way and either throw him off or make a mess of things. So. John hoped. At least he knew that his hope had some base, since Sherlock tended to listen to John. He told him that once, immersed in early-morning sleepiness and high on the happiness of their newly-public relationship: 'John, you're my connection to regular people. People who are human. You tell me what they would do. And when you're not there, I imagine what you would do, and I know that that's the moral thing to do. I might be the brains in this relationship —' John had protested at that; he did have a doctorate— 'but you're the heart.'

John was his heart. Sherlock wouldn't leave him unguarded like this for long, would he? John was getting hungry.

The phone started ringing, and John's head snapped up. He had dozed off; with Rosie still so young, and their cases, and the nightmares (the topics of which were as varying as his resume), and Sherlock, well, keeping him up at night, John Watson never got much sleep. A nap in a dark warehouse, while kidnapped, would have to do.

"Hello?" He was still feeling a bit blurry, which he was sure could be heard over the phone. 

"John? Are you alright?"

"What? Am I—" He tried to stifle a yawn and rub his eyes at the same time. "Am I alright? Yeah, 'course I am. Where are you?"

"I think I'm on my way to you. Listen, this is important, do you remember how many right turns you took when they drove you there?"

"Sherlock, I was pretty panicked. Also, I was stuffed in the trunk of the car."

"Well?"

John sighed, a sense of familiarity sinking into his chest. He liked this little game they played, pretending for a few seconds that he was incompetent. Sherlock always knew when to push for more details, and when John was truly stumped. "We took seven right turns. And five left turns," he added as an afterthought. 

“Fantastic. We’re definitely on the right path.”

“We?” John was truly confused, wondering who Sherlock had brought along on this crazy journey, but Sherlock seemed to have mistaken his tone for incredulity because his answer was not at all satisfactory:

“Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, John’s warehouse was surrounded by police, and he was grinning so badly it hurt. He weighed his options. He could either get up and try to find a way to them - to Sherlock, probably too eager to get inside - or he could stay put and avoid contributing to the mess that was definitely going on, let them find him. That option seemed to be the smart one. After all, he didn’t know what was beyond the doors of his warehouse. He didn’t even know where the doors  _ were _ . There might be traps, guards. Staying put certainly seemed the safer option. Of course, John’s nerves couldn’t let him do that.

He was already standing up, pacing as he was thinking. He was John Watson. Of course he wouldn’t stay put. He couldn’t. So what if the ensuing chaos was partly his fault, who cares. He would enjoy it. He always did.

John raced around the perimeter of the room, searching for the door. Once he had found it (locked, of course), he banged on it a few times, alerting everybody to his location, and then started on a series of kicks meant to break it down. He finally thought that he had it; the lock was starting to twist in a way he liked. But before he could gather all his strength for a final kick, the door was knocked down from the other side. A police officer he didn’t recognize yelled “Found him!”, but John was already racing past him into another spacious room. Various officers and men in masks were pulling out guns, aiming at each other.

From a catwalk above, someone was yelling, only half-intelligible: “Stop him! Stop them both! Goddamit, I can’t believe the police is here… Listen up! Everybody lower your weapons!” His minions seemed reluctant, but they obeyed the order, followed by the police. “Everybody can walk out of here unharmed today.” He seemed to be going for a convincing-villain tone of voice, but landed on something a bit less calm. A frantic urgency lined every word. This was not going according to his plan, John realized. “I will let John Watson go free… if you pay me a small sum of money. See? I can be kind. I just want Sherlock Holmes’s money.”

A police officer stared blankly at the man on the balcony. “Why should we listen to you? We have you completely outnumbered.”

The man on the catwalk seemed frozen with surprise for a few seconds, then bolted away, aiming for a staircase that led even higher up. The chaos resumed immediately. A few shots were fired, most of them missing and ringing off the metal of the catwalk or the walls. John slammed into a masked man from behind, pushing him to the ground and wrestling his gun out of his hand. By the time he stood back up, he didn’t know where to point it. Everything seemed to be more or less under control. Several cops were escorting handcuffed men out of the building. The man on the catwalk was limping strangely; he had never made it to the stairs and was now completely surrounded.

John made his way through the crowd, dodging a few frail attempts of the masked men to knock him down even while they were being wrestled away by police officers. The exit from the building wasn't too far away; he passed through one final room and then he was outside, in the sunlight, and there was Sherlock, standing nervously against a police car. 

"Sherlock!" John quickened his pace, barely walking anymore, almost running with exhilaration. 

"John!" Sherlock pushed away from the car and trotted towards him. They met halfway between the door and the car, engulfed in a hug.

“You arsehole!” They were back at their apartment. John punched Sherlock’s arm, partially joking, partially aiming to hurt. “You could’ve just told me that you were going to the police! You didn’t need to keep me worried like that.”

“I just wanted to know that you could trust me. Also, I didn’t want to waste time telling you that I was going to the police.”

“ _ Waste time _ ? What time? I had all the time in the world, I was busy being kidnapped and doing nothing.” John paused, looking at Sherlock. He could tell that he was sorry for not telling John. After years of working alone, he had gotten used to hiding everything he did. It was still hard for him to share everything with John, even if the thing to be shared was the fact that he  _ wasn’t  _ working alone. “Look. I trust you. Of course I do. I just know how hard it is to fall back into old patterns sometimes, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to accidentally get me killed while trying to rescue me.”

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, at all of the love they contained. Love, and a bit of exasperation. “I would never do that.”

“Do you know what ‘accidentally’ means?”

Sherlock laughed and pulled John into his arms, holding his waist tight. “I do. I’m sorry. Let’s forget all of that, alright? I’m just glad you’re safe at home.”

“Me too.” John’s eyes were crinkled in a smile. “But I can’t believe I got kidnapped again! And just for money. They didn’t even care about me specifically. How insulting…”

Sherlock was shaking with laughter, but he managed to pull John in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me at viktorkrumn.tumblr.com


End file.
